Harry Potter and the Strayan's Pebble
by twentyone AKA Charlie or Sin
Summary: What if Harry Potter was set in Australia? Good question, shit answer.
1. The Brat Who Lived

**CHAPTER ONE: THE BRAT WHO LIVED**

Mr and Mrs Duzza, of Number Four Private Street, were proud to say they were true blue Aussies.

Mr Duzza was the manager of a Bunnings in Homebush, and he thought it was a fair dinkum job. He was a fat bloke with a beer gut and a huge muzzy.

Mrs Duzza was tall and skinny, even though she spent most of her time eating Lindt Chocolate and reading her Kindle on the couch.

The Duzza's also had a son, Dudley, and they thought he was a bloody top-notch kid.

But they had a secret, and they didn't want anyone to know their secret, cos it was a pretty dodgy secret etcetera.

And here was their secret; Pav's sister, Lily Potter, (Pav was Mrs Duzza's first name) was a witch. She could do magic and stuff, and that was pretty sick for some people, but it was a bit Un-Australian, so Mr Duzza thought it was bloody dumb, and therefore so did Pav.

When the Duzza family woke up on the bloody hot Thursday that our story starts, they didn't suspect any shit was about to go down.

The morning was pretty alright; Pav shoved Dudley into his high chair and gave him some Vegemite toast, Mr Duzza put on some shorts and a singlet, kissed his wife goodbye, and left the house.

"Bye, Vern!" yelled Pav, cos that was Mr Duzza's first name and that.

Vern jumped into his Holden Commodore; it was turquoise, and had a very stylish Buddha statue on the dashboard. He reckoned this made him look pretty mature and intelligent and 'sofasticayted'.

He saw a cat looking at a sign as he drove out the driveway, but reversed and looked back as soon as the thought was processed.

 _CATS DON'T READ SIGNS, YOU KNOB_ , he thought, _THAT'S BLOODY UN-AUSTRALIAN!_

He drove back out the driveway and settled into the morning traffic, ready to scream at some foreigners and fire some women when he got to the Bunnings.

 _Yeah…that'd be fully sick._

* * *

Vern had been in traffic for about forty minutes, and he was getting pissed.

As he looked out the window of his Holden and had a durry, he saw a couple of people walking down the street in bloody robes and cloaks and massive hats.

"Oi, mate!" he yelled out the window of his car, squashing the cigarette against the side of his car.

One of the people looked up, "Yeah, mate? You wanna go me?"

Vern got out of his car, "Yeah, mate. You wanna go me?"

The man stepped back, "Nah, you muggle. He Who Can't Be Named has fallen, so I'm happy and shit and we ain't fighting."

"Aight, you pussy." Vern got back in his car.

As he sat in the traffic, he thought about what the guy had said to him. What the bloody hell was a 'muggle'? Sounded foreign. _Probably Arabic,_ he thought, and resolved to ask the Arab who worked at Bunnings what it meant.

Mr Duzza arrived at the Bunnings parking lot, and shoved his car into a handicapped slot.

For the next few hours, he shouted at people, unsuccessfully tried to make a child buy a drill, and fired three people, subsequently rehiring them as they left.

All in all, a very successful day at work.

At around 12:30pm, he decided to walk to the nearest Macca's and get a Coke Slushie. As he walked, he saw another group of people in cloaks sitting together, talking. He pushed past them, and caught a snippet of conversation, "No, you monkey, the fucking Potters. Yeah, their son, Harry."

Vern stopped walking.

Lily Potter's son was called Harry.

Or was it?

Nah, 'Harry Potter' was probably a pretty common name anyway.

No worries.

* * *

Vern returned to Private Street at 6pm, to see the cat now reading a map.

 _Wot?_

He looked back again, and the cat was now just sitting down, licking its paws.

He jumped out of the Holden and waddled inside, where a cold VB and a lamington awaited him.

That night, he and Pav watched Home and Away, a particularly interesting episode where a bunch of men with their shirts off ran around on beaches getting people pregnant.

Vern decided to ask her, "Pav, you bitch!"

"Yeah, you fat mongrel?"

"What's your sister's son's name?"

"Why the fuck do you want to know, you knob?"

"Just cos, woman. Is that a crime?"

"Nah, alright. Harry. Bloody stupid name. Common. Not quiche, like 'Dudley'."

Vern felt as if someone had poured ice water into his pants.

Then he realized that he had spilled his VB.

"WOMAN, GET ME ANOTHER BEER!" he bellowed.

As Vern and Pav slept, they had no idea that the mysterious cat was still on their driveway.

Suddenly, a tall old man with a long grey beard stepped out of the shadows.

"What's up, Minerva?" he yelled at the cat, forcing it to jump a foot in the air, and morph itself into a tight-lipped woman with grey hair in a bun, wearing emerald green robes.

"Shut the fuck up, Dumbledore. You don't want to be spotted by all these dogheaded muggles, do you, mate?"

"Yeah, good point, woman. Cheers."

Dumbledore pulled a cigarette lighter out of his pocket, and pressed the button.

All the streetlights flew into the lighter, culminating as a single flame. He then pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, blowing smoke into Minerva McGoodonya's face.

"Could you not, you fag?"

"Sorry, mate. Where's Haggers?"

"Are you sure he's the proper bloke for this job? He's a bit of a mongoloid, mate."

"Not your business, you cow. Shut up."

McGoodonya looked annoyed, "k." she muttered.

Suddenly, a motorbike appeared in the sky, roaring down towards Dumbledore and McGoodonya.

It landed, and a large man got off, holding a small baby in his hands.

"Good evening, kekheads." He said, taking a swig of vodka from a bottle, and spitting it in McGoodonya's face.

"Dumbledore, here's the little shit."

McGoodonya intervened, "These people are true blue Aussies. If we leave him with them, he'll have a shit childhood."

"Yeah, likely. Until he's eleven."

"Well, yeah, but that's bloody ages away, you drongo."

"Oi, who wants to go down the pub?"

"Why would we do that, Haggers?" asked McGoodonya.

"We'll have a drink on little Potter, there. He killed the Bogan Lord, remember? It was this morning. They investigated it on 'A Current Affair, hosted by Rita Skeeter'."

"Yeah, k, fair enough."

Haggers dumped the child on the doorstep, his hair parting so they could see a scar on the infant's forehead; a boomerang-shaped scar.

"You see that kid, mate? He's the brat who lived!"

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed. I am striving to parody the entire book, but that seems a bit steep and difficult from this end, so bear with me if some chapters aren't as funny as some others. I do need to include the actual story, although I will have to remove some stuff etc. to lighten the load. Before anyone asks; YES I AM AUSTRALIAN, I HAVE LIVED HERE MY WHOLE LIFE, I KNOW HOW AUSTRALIANS SPEAK.**

 **k bye**


	2. Big D's Birthday

**CHAPTER TWO: BIG D'S BIRTHDAY**

It had been almost ten years since a baby had been dumped on the Duzza's doorstep on a bloody hot Thursday, but the house hadn't really changed at all.

There were still several cans of Victoria Bitter strewn across the lawn, the pink Holden Commodore still sat in the driveway with its 'mature' dashboard Buddha, and Vern and Pav still sat down to watch Home and Away every night.

The photographs on the fridge only showed a big, fat Aussie, his petite, irritating, wife, and a fat boy of about eleven who looked like a pig.

There was no way a visitor could tell that another kid lived there.

Harry Potter had lived a properly shit life since he had been dropped off all those nights ago. He had been sent to a public school nearby, where everybody smoked two packets a day and spread vegemite on their steak; while Dudley (or Big D, as his mates called him), went to a very posh private school where they believed in an "all rounded education".

Harry Potter was forced to sleep in a small cupboard under the stairs, and every morning he was woken by a sharp knock on his door from Aunt Pav.

"GET UP, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" she screeched through the doorway, smashing her hand against the door again.

"IT'S DUDLEY'S BIRTHDAY, YOU MONGREL, AND IT BETTER BE PROPERLY FAIR DINKUM, ALRIGHT? I'LL GET VERN TO CLIP YOU ONE IF YOU DON'T REEL YOUR CRAP IN, 'AIGHT?"

Harry gulped, "Yes, Aunt Pav."

She kicked his door.

"Today, you call me Aunt Pavlova."

Harry sighed and pushed his way out of the tiny little bedroom, entering the kitchen to find toast in the toaster, the Vegemite jar out, and Vern smoking a durry.

"Good morning, Uncle Vern."

Vern just grunted, "Hello, nephew."

Pav slapped Harry over the head, "Make breakfast, you bastard! Everything has to be amazing for Dudley's special day!"

Harry got to work cooking the bacon.

"IF YOU BURN MY FUCKING BACON, I WILL BACKHAND YOU TO NEWCASTLE!" stormed Vern, as he sat reading a copy of The Sydney Morning Herald.

Harry nervously cooked the breakfast, watching his aunt and uncle in case they were about to reprimand him.

Suddenly, Dudley burst in, singing.

"Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, I'm better than any other mongrel in this house, Happy Birthday to me!"

He turned to his mum, "Bitch, where are my presents?"

Pav gave him a hug, "Happy birthday, darling. Your presents are over there."

Dudley went over to his stack of presents.

"How many are there?"

"Thirty-three," Vern said, "I counted them myself, boy."

"Thirty three?" asked Dudley, puzzled, "Last year you gave me thirty seven presents, you cheap dogs!"

"Some of them are bigger than last year, mate," his father explained.

"I don't give two shits on top of a kangaroo how big they are!" yelled an exasperated Dudley.

"How about you shut your shithole and put up with how many you've been given before I bend you over my knee and give you a walloping?" asked Vern, obviously heavily drunk even this early in the morning.

Dudley sat down and posted a selfie of him with his presents to Instagram; _#rich._

Harry served breakfast to the table.

"Mum, where am I going for my birthday today?" asked Dudley.

Pav spooned a large chunk of scrambled eggs into her mouth, "We were thinking Taronga Zoo, darling."

Dudley sat back, "Can Jonno come?"

"Of course Jonno can come, darl." Pav said, absent-mindedly.

Dudley shot off a text to his best mate; _WANNA COME 2 TARONGA W/ ME? WE CAN BASH HARRY COS HIS PARENTS R DEAD, AND THAT'S PRETTY FUN, RIGHT?_

* * *

An hour later, as Harry was washing the dishes, he saw a red scooter arrive outside, with a large boy riding it, a hat with the Australian flag printed across backwards on the boy's head.

It was Jonno.

Jonno came up to the door and bashed on it.

"BIG D?"

Dudley came out of the living room and opened the door, "WHAT'S UP, YOU FAG?"

"Nothing much, I'm all right."

Jonno caught sight of Harry.  
"Can I bash your faggot cousin?" he asked.

Dudley nodded.

Jonno went up to Harry and slammed his head against the wall, pulling him back and slapping him across the face.

"That'll teach you to be so _gaaay._ "

Harry rolled his eyes. _What a rugby player!_

After Jonno had sufficiently injured Harry, Pav and Vern came downstairs.

"Come on, boys!" Pav screeched, "We've gotta pick up my Voddy from the Bottle-O, so you'd better get in the car!"

Everybody left the house and piled into the Commodore. Vern pulled Harry aside before he could get in, "Listen, you little shit. Don't mess about, or I'll belt you, eh?"

Harry nodded, and Vern shoved him into the car.

Once the group arrived at the Zoo, Pav was completely off her face on Vodka, Vern had had a few durries and around six cans of VB, and Dudley and Jonno had been calling Harry a 'faggot' for most of the car trip there.

Everyone staggered out of the car and into the Zoo. They saw many enclosures, including the koala one, which was full of Americans.

"BLOODY YANKS!" yelled Vern, pointing at the tourists, "POLLUTING THIS GREAT LAND WITH THEIR FILTHY TV AND THEIR FILTHY ACCENTS!"

An employee came up to him, "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"HOW ABOUT THOSE WANKERS LEAVE FIRST, EH?"

Pav dragged her husband out of the Zoo.

Harry walked up to the tourists, "I'm sorry about my Uncle," he said, "We're not all like this."

As they walked over to the car, Vern grabbed his neck.

"Did you just fff-fraternize with those Yanks?" the drunk, fat man demanded.

Harry didn't respond. Suddenly, the Buddha statue on the dashboard exploded, smashing the windscreen.

Vern smashed Harry across the face, "Now, you've damaged my property, and my reputation. Your arse will wish it had never existed when we get home, boy."

Dudley and Jonno sniggered as they drove home, but Harry was extremely angry.

 _He didn't blow up the Buddha._

 _He couldn't have._

When they got home, Vern shoved Harry into the cupboard.

"How did you blow up the Buddha?" he asked, furious.

"I didn't, you mongrel!" Harry protested, "It just exploded, like magic!"

Vern kicked him into the cupboard, locking the door from the outside.

"MAGIC IS _**UN-AUSTRALIAN**_!"

* * *

 **A/N: This one may not be as funny, I dunno. I wrote it quite quickly, so it may seem rushed, sorry about that. Anyway, I'll probably have the next chapter up sometime soon.**

 **Until then, enjoy!**


	3. Brett & the Boomerang

**CHAPTER THREE: BRETT & THE BOOMERANG**

Harry was allowed out of his cupboard on Australia Day, almost a month after he had blown up the dashboard Buddha.

Vern and Pav had been having a party earlier that day, and Harry exited the small bedroom to find a scene worthy of the Apocalypse.

Victoria Bitter cans and bottles of Crown littered the floor, with the odd Belvedere Vodka here and there.

Pav was slumped, unconscious on the couch.

Vern was in the kitchen, tucking into a plate of lamingtons with Big D.

"BOY, ARE YOU OUT OF THE CUPBOARD YET?" yelled Vern from the other room.

"Yes, Uncle Vern!" called back Harry.

"GET THE BLOODY MAIL THEN, YOU DIRTY DOG!"

Harry obliged, and looked through the stack of mail as he walked to give the letters to Vern.

One of the letters caught his eye; on the back was written;

 _HARRY POTTER_

 _4 PRIVATE STREET, NEW SOUTH WALES_

 _THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS_

Harry tucked the letter into his pocket, and walked into the kitchen, passing the letters to Vern.

"You, knobhead!" said Vern, pointing at Harry,

"Make me some _MILO_!"

Vern whacked Harry with a copy of The Sydney Morning Herald, "Go on, hurry up, boy!"

Harry ignored him, and walked back into the hallway, opening the letter. Vern scrambled after him.

"MATE, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BLOODY DOING? WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS, BUSH WEEK? GO AND MAKE THE MILO BEFORE I WHIP YOU ONE!"

Then, he saw the letter.

"GIVE ME THAT!" he yelled, "GIVE ME THAT LETTER!"

Harry tugged it away, "NO, YOU SHITHOLE!"

He jumped into the cupboard and started to read the letter.

 _DEAR HARRY POTTER,_

 _YOUSE HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO JOIN WOMBATLUMP SCHOOL OF SPELLS AND MAGIC._

 _ONE OF OUR BLOKES'LL BE OVER TO GET YA._

 _SO BE READY AND SHIT._

 _SIGNED,_

 _AL DUMBLEDORE, THE KING OF HAVIN' A GOOD DURRY AND ROOT_

 _MINERVA MCGOODONYA,_ _A RIGHT STRICT BIRD_ _, ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL_

Vern stepped back from Harry, knowing he had been unsuccessful in stopping him.

Suddenly, Vern's house began to shake violently, and a boomerang flew through the kitchen and whacked him on the back of the head.

"Strewth!" Vern muttered, as he keeled over.

Harry looked up at the boomerang, which just hovered in the air, waiting for something.

A huge man stepped into the hallway and snatched the boomerang out of the air.

"G'day, mate," said the man, shaking Harry's hand, "I'm Brett Haggers, I work at Wombatlump School."

Harry was still in awe of the man's size; he was about 9 feet tall.

"Why are you so huge, mate?" asked Harry.

"Um…" said Haggers.

"Did your mum inbreed with a kangaroo or something, you dirty mongrel?"

Haggers held up the boomerang, "Don't be disrespectful, you larrikin, or I'll smash ya with me boomer!"

"Fair dinkum, mate." Harry replied.

"Cheers." Haggers said, ending the conversation.

Big D walked into the hall, and saw his father unconscious on the floor, a large giant in the hall, and Harry looking directly at him.

Harry grabbed the boomerang from Haggers and pelted it at Big D.

He flopped to the floor, the cup of Milo he was holding smashing all over the ground.

"What a fat mongrel!" exclaimed Haggers, and grabbed Harry's arm. They disappeared from the house, leaving all three members of the Duzza family unconscious.

* * *

Brett Haggers and Harry Potter reappeared in a pub.

"Brett, why did ya take me to a pub, you drongo?"

"Cos this is a magic pub, you mongrel."

"How can it be a magic pub, Haggers?"

And so, Haggers clicked his fingers and a VB appeared in Harry's hand.

"Cheers, mate!" said Harry, and downed his beer.

He followed Haggers to the back of the pub, and they left through a back exit.

"But Haggers, that's just a brick wall!" Suddenly, a smile spread onto Harry's face, "Is it a magic brick wall?"

Haggers shook his head, "No, Harry, it's not. I just happen to have some homemade explosives, made of kangaroo shit, vegemite and pages of The Sydney Morning Herald." Haggers pulled out a cigarette lighter, lit the bomb on fire, and threw it at the wall. The wall exploded, and Harry and Haggers walked through the newly made hole onto a large cobbled street.

Australian flags hung from every shop, and homeless people smoking cigarettes lined the fences.

"Welcome, Harry…" said Haggers, "To Dinkum Alley!"

"Sick!" said Harry.

Harry entered a wand shop.

An old man stood behind the counter.

"You need a wand?" he asked gruffly.

"Yeah, that'd be about right, you dirty old man."

The man shuffled into the back of the shop and returned with a wand.

Harry grabbed the wand and waved it about. Sparks floated from the end and the wand began to glow.

"That's bloody weird!" exclaimed the bloke behind the counter.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Because that wand has a twin. And the guy who owns the other one fuckin' killed your mum and dad, you dirty dog!"

* * *

"Oi, knobhead!" yelled Haggers as Harry exited the wand shop.

"I got you an owl!"

* * *

Harry and Haggers, along with all Harry's wizarding luggage, arrived at Kings Cross late that night.

"Haggers, where are we?"

"We're in Kings Cross, Harry!"

Immediately, Harry jumped into a small hole in the wall and hid, "Haggers!" he yelled, "There might be some young people enjoying their evening close by! And if they see you, one of them will hit you once very hard on the head, and you'll go to hospital, remain in a critical condition for 24 hours, and then die. It will be in the local news, and only strengthen a local initiative to minimize the amount of pubs in the area, and make their closing times earlier!"

"Oh, god!" yelled Haggers, and jumped into the hole as well, "How do we get to the train station then?"

"There's no train station in Kings Cross, Haggers! You must be thinking of London you bloody militant walrus!"

Haggers pulled his Samsung Phone out of his pocket and showed Harry Google Maps.

"See, there IS a Kings Cross station!"

"Really?" asked Harry, "I don't think anyone who lives in Sydney actually knows about it, though!"

* * *

 **A/N: Fair dinkum. Chapter three over. A few to go.**

 **Doing well so far.**

 **Cheers for reading.**


	4. When Harry Met Ronnie

This may or may not be offensive.

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR: WHEN HARRY MET RONNIE**

Harry and Haggers descended the stairs to the train station. It was almost deserted at that time of night, except for a small group of people walking very quickly away from them.

They began walking towards Platform Four. Haggers brought Harry to a large pole in between Platform Four and Platform Five.

"Right, you cheeky little horseshit, through there is Platform Four and a Bit. That's where you catch the train, understand?"

Harry nodded, "Course I bloody understand. I'm not five years old, you drongo."

"Don't start getting snappy with me, you specky little bastard, or I'll shove me boomerang up your hole."

"Fair enough."

"All right," said Haggers, ending the conversation.

Suddenly, a large group of people pushed past them.

"Haggers, it's a pack of Rangas."

"So it is, Harry," said Haggers.

"Well, I'm leaving now, so see ya."

And Haggers disappeared.

Harry turned to face the other people.

A fat woman was yelling at two twin boys.

Harry got closer to hear what she was saying, "YOU DIDN'T EVEN PACK ANY UNDIES? FUCKIN' HELL, YOU GUYS ARE PATHETIC. JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER, EXCEPT I CAN'T DEPRIVE YOU OF—" and she stopped talking for a minute. "WELL, NEVER MIND, BUT THE POINT IS, YOU FILTHY MONGRELS—"

A boy tapped Harry on the shoulder. He had the same ginger hair as the woman and the teenage boys, and looked around Harry's age.

"Are you going to Wombatlump too, mate?"

"Yeah, I reckon I am." Harry responded.

"I'm Ronnie, mate. Ronnie Weazo."

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Holy shit!" said Ronnie, "That's fair dinkum. Show me your scar."

Harry showed Ronnie his boomerang scar, hidden under a flap of hair.

"Mate, you're famous here. You're the kid who defeated Lord, um, ya know."

"Who?"

"You know, the Bogan Lord."

"I've never heard of him."

"All right, fine; Voldy."

"VOLDY?" asked Harry.

"DON'T FUCKING SAY IT THAT LOUD, YOU PRICK!" Ronnie exclaimed, "Anyway, we've gotta get on the train."

He walked over to the wall, and said, "Fairie-dinkyem!"

A small piano jutted out of the wall.

Ronnie began pressing keys, muttering to himself as he created a song on the piano that Harry had heard many times before;

 _Beneath our Radiant Southern Cross_

 _We'll toil with hearts and hands,_

 _To make this Commonwealth of ours,_

 _Renowned of all the lands._

Suddenly, the piano retracted into the wall, and Ronnie stepped through, and vanished.

Harry went up to the piano, and decided to continue on,

 _For those who come across the seas,_

 _Go back to your fucking boat,_

 _With courage all let us combine,_

 _Something or other._

The keyboard slid away, and Harry stepped through.

Immediately, he found himself on a different platform, full of witches and wizards, and children hopping onto the train. As Harry and Ronnie walked through the mass of people, they could hear parents saying farewell to their children.

"DON'T FORGET TO SEND YOUSE DARLING MOTHER A LETTER OR SOMETHING, LOVE! YEES, ALRIGHT, BYYYEEE!"

Harry and Ronnie walked faster after that, sheltering themselves from the bogans.

Suddenly, a girl pushed in front of them, and walked up onto the train.

"Oi, bitch!" yelled Ronnie.

The girl stopped, "Yes, you ginger bastard?"

"What's your name?" asked Ronnie.

"I'm Hezza, mate. Climb aboard, we're about to head off."

Harry, Ronnie and Hezza sat together in a compartment near the back of the train.

Hezza was rolling her own durries, and Ronnie was telling a story about his Dad's magical Ute.

A woman came past, pushing a trolley laden with drinks and food.

"ANYTHING FROM THE TROLLEY, MONGRELS?"

Harry got up, "I'll have, erm, a VB-" he looked at Ronnie, "A Crown, and—"

"A VODKA, DARL!" Hezza slurred.

"Course you will." Harry muttered, bringing the drinks back into the compartment.

"Cheers!" said Ronnie.

* * *

Somewhere, far away, in a shack in Mullumbimby, the Bogan Lord sensed someone had said his name. His eyes opened, the beer dropped from his hand, and he turned Home & Away off the telly.

Harry Potter had entered the Wizarding World.

It was time to get out of retirement.

* * *

Al Dumbledore was in his office, pondering things.

Minerva McGoodonya walked in, "Al, you need to get ready. The students will arrive in half an hour."

"Yeah, yeah," said Dumbledore, waving his hand in the air, "I'll be ready."

As McGoodonya left the room, Dumbledore pulled a cooler out from under his desk, and grabbed a Victoria Bitter.

* * *

The teachers were preparing for the oncoming school year.

Findlay Flitwick was casting spells around his room, making sure all his knowledge was still there (after all he had watched a lot of Home & Away over the Christmas period, and that may have cost him some braincells).

Sev Snape was brewing some potions in his dungeon, taking stock of his supplies, ( _eye of newt – check, toe of wallaby – check, lip of politician – check_ )

Minerva McGoodonya was transfiguring a monkey into Tony Abbott, and back again. It was a relatively easy spell.

And Al Dumbledore, the principal, was drinking himself under the desk.

It was going to be a _good_ year.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was a bit short, I know, sorry. But next chapter will include what might be my favourite scene yet to write; Ron meets Draco.**

 _ **Oh yes.**_


	5. Albino V Ranga

_A/N: Yes, I'm aware it's been almost a year. Yes, I'm aware the chapter is bloody tiny. Yes, I'm aware it's not as funny as the other ones. This is just to test the water and see how many of my readers there are left, okay?_

 **CHAPTER FIVE: ALBINO V RANGA, DAWN OF THE ANCESTORS**

As the Wombatlump Express slowed to a halt, Brett Haggers approached with a bright pink megaphone in his left hand and a Krispy Kreme in his right.

"Alright, dickheads!" he shouted into the megaphone, cinnamon donut crumbs dribbling from his lip, "Little shits with me, the rest of youse do what ya want."

Harry, Ronnie and Hezza stepped out of the train door tentatively, approaching Haggers with caution.

"Hey Brett, ya dickhead!" exclaimed Harry.

Haggers dropped his donut in delighted surprise, "Harry, you faggot, good ta see ya mate!"

He surveyed Ronnie and Hezza, "Who are ya mates?"

"I'm Ronnie, ya fat fuck!"

Within a few seconds, Ronnie was being held up by the scruff of his neck, Haggers staring at him angrily.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING FAT, YOU PLUMP RANGA PLEB?"

He dropped Ronnie to the ground, turning on Hezza.

"I'm Hezza, mate. How're youse?" slurred the girl.

"How is this goonya already drunk?" Haggers exclaimed.

Eventually, the rest of the year-ones assembled before Haggers and he led them down to a dodgy shed.

"Seeing as the Firsts Rowing Team have yet to be assembled...and there doesn't seem to be too many fairies in this new bunch...it looks like we'll be rowin' over to Wombatlump Castle."

Whispers of excitement passed through the crowd, and Haggers slapped a little boy in the face, knocking him into the cold ocean.

"Now, you two," he said to Harry and Ronnie, "Pick up a shitty boat and chuck it in the lake. We stole these from a couple a' refugees that came past last week. Stop the boats, eh?"

Harry grabbed one end of the boat and Ronnie grabbed the other, the two of them hefting it into the lake.

"Right, whoever wants to get there fast jump on that one there."

A prick with no eyebrows and greasy platinum blonde hair pushed through the crowd towards Haggers.

"I'll take it," he said in a dickhead voice, two big Aboriginal boys appearing behind him.

"Oi," said Ronnie, "We were gonna grab that one first, ya knob."

"Youse is ginge, and your clothes are shit. Weazo, eh?"

Ronnie gave him a look, as if to say _Yeah, and the what the fuck you gonna do about it, mate? Do you want me to punch your teeth out very slowly and then wipe some vegemite on them, go down SeaWorld and feed them to unsuspecting dolphins? Is that really what you want? Hm?_

Astounded by the amount of thought Ronnie could put into a look, the boy introduced himself - "My name's Drake, right? These two here are Daku and Ilaka."

He gestured to the nearby corroboree currently in progress, particularly Ilaka and his large didgeridoo - something Hezza had already taken a shine to.

Daka pulled a cigarette from his Adidas trackies, lit and blew smoke in Ronnie's face.

"Now we're taking that boat," said Drake, pulling Hezza off Ilaka's didgeridoo.

Drake pushed past Ronnie and the two Aboriginal boys hoisted him up onto their shoulders, carrying him onto the boat.

"Fuckin' albino," complained Ronnie, as the boat was eaten by a Great White Shark and Nine News arrived on the scene.

Haggers looked on with disapproval, tutting under his breath.

"We're going to have to take the stairs instead," he muttered.


	6. DANGER!

_..._

"Lad…"

Harry stopped climbing the stairs for a moment, leaning against the banister as he got his breath back. "What do you want, Ronnie?"

"Ya know…"

Harry sighed, "What?"

"I was thinking…"

"Lad, what?"

Ronnie furrowed his brow, "Where the hell _is_ Wombatlump?"

"Full no idea, mate."

"Shithole, New South Wales," muttered Brett Haggers, just up ahead.

"Huh?"

"Somewhere near Dubbo, mate, that's all you need to know."

* * *

 _A/N: Yo, I'm back. Just checking in with a small chapter to make sure you guys are still fucked in the head and by that I mean loyal readers. Children of the faith, your patience is rewarded. I should be doing a chapter 7 soon. 'til then, cheers._

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX: "I'M GOING TO FULL LIKE FUCK OFF DANGER IT EH LAD"**

The Wombatlump school hall. Basically, any auditorium in any high school in Australia – broken light fittings, no air conditioning, and seats that you definitely wouldn't want to shine a black-light on.

The year seven students shuffled into the hall, most of them looking around nervously, and the other half already full-on smashed.

Al Dumbledore, principal of Wombatlump Public, was bollocked already, almost falling off his chair at the teacher's table. The year sevens approached the front of the room, at which there was a tall barstool – and, upon it, a vintage baggy green.

The cap spoke:

"Look, mate, I'm done. I used to invent songs and shit, but, like, nobody ever, like, appreciates it ay? So, like, lads, just shove me on there, I'll get you where you belong, and we're done. Yeah?"

The year sevens nodded.

"Good, alright. You there, ranga, plonk me on there…"

Ronnie went up to the barstool and picked up the cricket cap, placing it awkwardly on his head. The Baggy Green murmured to himself for a moment, "Yeah, you're a Jones."

As the hall applauded, Ron looked at the hat confusedly, "But I thought the houses would have really great and impressive names, like, for example, Gryffindor, or, maybe … Slytherin?"

The Baggy Green chuckled, "No. This is a New South Wales private school, mate. When we have houses, we give them really white, old man names, like Anderson, Harvey, Cheshire or Angus, right?"

"Oh."

"Right, fuck off down t' the table now."

Next up was Harry. Jones too. No, of course there was no inner turmoil about his soul belonging to a separate house, what would make you think that? Like, he definitely wasn't there muttering, 'Not Bryden. Not Bryden. Not Bryden.'.

After that, Hezza. Another Jones recruit. Stumbling down the steps, off her head on cruisers, slipping onto the bench next to the other two.

The rest of the year sevens got sorted fairly easily. Drake into Bryden, along with his big 'boys'. The Patil sisters, Lebanese chicks who looked full easy, into … uh … I don't know, Smith? I'll forget what I called the houses anyway, and there's no continuity in this, so who really cares?

Anyway, they all got sorted.

The principal of the school, Al Dumbledore, stood up to give a half-an-hour irrelevant speech that's somehow thinly linked to a current topic (well, I did say he was the head of a private school.), but collapsed to the ground, absolutely off his head.

Suddenly, on the tables, food and drinks appeared. Bunnings saussies, Oak choccy milk, Allens snakes, _**Passiona**_ , cruisers, and a few six-packs of Woodstock.

In awe, Ronnie grabbed one of the Woodstock cans, and from his mouth came the one word that always arises when young blokes drink.

" _DANGER!"_

The table fell silent.

And then…

" _Danger, danger, danger…"_

Light chanting.

" _Danger! Danger! Danger!"_

Louder.

" _DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!"_

Ronnie grinned, holding the massive can in his pudgy hand. He turned to Harry, "Oi - I'm going to full like fuck off _danger_ it eh lad?"

SMASH.

His forehead connected with that can like a fatal traffic accident. As the can fell away, blood dripped from his forehead, drink bubbling out of the pierced can and onto the floor, mixing with the blood in a small puddle.

"DANGER!"

"DANGER!"

"DANGER!"

Welcome to Jones house, lads.


End file.
